fireworks
by dreamembers
Summary: The strip is alive with colour, the streets filled with excitable travellers, all waiting to ring in the New Year, with a kiss if they're lucky. If they're not called Seth Rollins…


**A/N: This is a tweaked edit of a one-shot I wrote for NYE last year, I hope it still works! Hope you all have a brilliant 2016!**

* * *

It was supposed to be a surprise. By the time he'd gotten around to it, it was fully booked for the New Year's Eve of 2014, but he found they were already taking booking for _this_ year and booked a couple nights without a second thought. At the time he thought it was a great idea. They'd spend the night at a bar, maybe visit a casino, before going back to their room and seeing the new year in together, then (hopefully) starting the year with a bang – literally. After that, they'd have the whole suite to just... _be a couple._ And with it being Vegas, nobody would even question why they'd be together. They could be just two single friends keeping each other company.

It was ideal, so he planned it to perfection. Then June came and everything went to shit. Of course, it was his fault. _He's_ the one who broke up with his boyfriend by beating him with a steel chair. _He's_ the one who turned his back on their relationship and their best friend. _He's_ the one who then fought the man he loves for months, repeatedly beating him to a pulp. _He's_ the one who caused all of this, but that doesn't mean he wanted it to be this way.

In May, when he booked the room, he had no intentions of losing Dean. Ever. Even in June, he expected by the time Dean's birthday came, they'd be back together, even if it did mean sneaking around like children, hiding from the Authority.

Obviously, things didn't work out that way. Dean's birthday came and passed, though he still felt obliged to go out and buy him a present. The same happened at Christmas. The presents are still sitting in the bottom of his bag, waiting to be opened. He carries them everywhere he goes – throwing them away feels like giving up all hope on them.

He knows he could have cancelled, could have gotten back at least his deposit, but signs of hope continued to appear and he thought maybe…

 _Maybe…_

Even now, as he stands at the window of the hotel suite that was originally booked for two but tonight only holds one, he thinks… _maybe_. Maybe this year won't be the worst of his life so far. He's lost so much this year – his title, his place in the authority, his ability to do the job he loves so much… but if he could get _anything_ back, he'd want it to be the loving warmth he became so accustomed to.

He doesn't even know why he came here. It's almost as if he's determined to cause himself pain by reminding himself what could have been, what _should_ have been, what should _still be_. The strip is alive with colour, the streets filled with excitable travellers, all waiting to ring in the New Year, with a kiss if they're lucky. If they're not called Seth Rollins…

Hell, he could be anywhere else right now. There's plenty cities where he could drink away his sadness and regret without having to explain himself to anyone – yet he flies here. Of all places, he flies to the city that the man he loves calls home. Why? What does he hope will happen?

Of course, that's a stupid question. He knows what he hopes will happen. He hopes Dean will find the card that he gave to him months ago, the card that will lead him straight to the room he's standing in right now. He hopes he'll hear the knock at the door, and they'll embrace, apologies muffled by desperate kisses as they fall onto the bed, sharing that special New Year's kiss with each other before falling asleep with smiles on their faces.

But the chances of that happening are slim to none. This is reality, and Seth has to learn to deal with the consequences of his actions no matter how hard it may be. It's nothing compared to the pain he put his friends through.

As the night grows older and the streets grow louder, the feeling in the pit of his stomach grows heavier. His phone is sitting in front of him on the coffee table, taunting him, urging him. _Go on. Do it. Do it! You know you want to. That's all you can think about. Go on, just do it._ He's ignored their taunts for the two hours since he arrived, but now his fingers are twitching, as if they're sick of his internal struggle and have decided they're just going to do it whether he wants to or not. Before long his phone is in his hand, fingers trembling as they press 'call'. Then Dean's face is there on the screen, smiling at him with such openness people rarely have the privilege to see.

A privilege he threw away. And for what? Success seems irrelevant now in comparison to the way it felt to be loved the way he was.

"Hello?" Seth looks down in alarm as the voice he once called (still does call) home pours through the speakers. He belatedly remembers to hold the device to his ear, and takes three deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. _It's just a phone call, no need to get yourself so damn worked up about it. Christ Seth get it together_ , "Seth, I know it's you," his heart soars at the words. Not just because he's missed hearing Dean say his name without it being filled with poison, but also because it means Dean kept him in his phone. It's a miniscule detail, but maybe. Maybe Dean's been hoping as well. Maybe they've both been holding on to a love they feared was over, that they feared had been overshadowed by anger and hatred- "OK, whatever, I'm hanging up now."

"No!" He throws a hand in front of his mouth as it hits him how desperate he sounded. A broken plea from a breaking man. His eyes are burning, brimming with tears as a tidal wave of suppressed emotion hits him. This is all he's wanted for months now – the chance to talk to Dean, to tell him he misses him, to try and start rebuilding one of the many bridges he has burned.

"Alright. Ok. Tell me- tell me what you want. Why are you calling?" He doesn't miss the slight crack in Dean's voice, or the tightness thereafter. He hates that knowing Dean is upset makes him _happy_ , but it does, because it means there's still _something_ there, "why are you calling Seth? What do you want?"

"You."

Were it not for the sound of laboured breathing, Seth would presume Dean had hung up. The silence stretches across the line. Brittle, delicate, something Seth daren't break for fear of the consequences. So he waits. He tears the skin from his chapped lips and tastes the blood as it touches his tongue. He listens to the haggard breaths on the other end of the line, counting them and promising himself he'll apologise for every single one.

"Why?" Is the eventual response.

"Because... because I've got nobody. Because I miss just talking to you. Because I'm here in Vegas and-"

"You're in Vegas? Why?"

Seth chuckles bitterly, glancing around the suite, "I booked a room for us back in May. Not this May, the one before that… just a couple nights. Was gonna be a surprise. Figured we could go out on the strip and not have to be out in the madness at midnight, but still feel a part of the celebrations. Then just hang out. I dunno. Seemed a good idea at the time. Doesn't matter now…"

"So... why are you there on your own?" Seth opens his mouth to respond, when Dean quickly jumps back in, " _are_ you on your own?"

"Yeah, I'm alone," He isn't certain, but he's pretty sure he hears Dean exhale in relief. It makes Seth smile, and fills him with a bit more confidence, "and I'm here cos I paid for it. Not like I was gonna get my money back now so I figured I'd use it," he takes a deep breath before forcing out the question he's so desperate to know the answer to, "what about you? You alone?"

Dean only offers a hum in response. It's not really an answer, and images flood his mind when he hears the rustling of bedsheets. He can see it now. Dean in all his naked glory, phone held to his ear as he looks at the beautiful busty woman beside him. Or maybe it's a guy. Perhaps even Roman – it's not like he hasn't had his suspicions about them in the past. Maybe Dean's resting his head on Roman's chest, Roman's arms wrapped around the slender waist Seth was always so fascinated with. His chest begins to ache, not realising that Dean's talking to him again in an all too familiar tone – the caring one, the gentle one, the one Dean would use if Seth had taken a particularly bad bump, or as he soothed Seth after a rough escapade between the sheets.

"Seth? You alright?" Seth chokes on a sob and forces the images from his mind, "Seth?"

"Yeah. Yeah I'm- Fuck, sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was just saying I'm alone too," relief flows over his body at the words. Alone. They're both alone, in Las Vegas, both sounding just as miserable as each other, "I was asleep, actually."

"But it's like, 10. Would'a thought you'd be out celebrating, finding someone to bring in the New Year with a real bang."

The second the words escape, Seth curses. He hadn't meant to sound so bitter. He waits for Dean's response, but is greeted with silence. For a moment, he thinks perhaps Dean's let it slip, or maybe he's fallen asleep. But then he hears Dean growl, "well I didn't really feel like celebrating. Y'know, I'd rather just forget the past… 19 months happened. Between a break-up beatdown at the hands of my boyfriend, the millions of wars I've been in and the amount of times I've had my best friend crying on my shoulder, it's been a pretty shit couple of months."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Don't bullshit me, Seth. You're not sorry, you're just sorry you lost your fuckbuddy."

"My _fuckbuddy_? What the hell Dean? Where's that come from? You were more than that and you know it!"

"Well you sure as hell didn't love me, if you did none of this would have happened!"

"I _did_ love you! I still _do_!"

Dean growls again, and Seth can hear several thuds in the background, "what hotel are you at? What room are you in?" Seth had almost forgotten the way Dean sometimes changes topic so fast it makes your head spin. But at least then he didn't have to fear being attacked. The conversation has spiralled from emotional, to comfortable, to fury on Dean's end and Seth can't decide whether it's genuine anger resurfacing, or just frustration and bottled up emotions bubbling over. Seth takes a second to calm down before speaking again, gentler this time, hoping to tame the beast.

"Dean..."

"Seth, tell me or I'll hunt you down myself."

"Delano. Uh, 37185."

"I'll see you in 15." Abruptly, the phone call ends, leaving Seth muttering his goodbyes to the dial tone. With shaking hands, he places his phone back on the table and begins to pace.

20 minutes later, Seth snaps his head towards the door at the sound of determined knocking and a familiar voice telling him to _"open up"._ Unable to even consider turning Dean away at this point, he grabs his crutches and speeds across the carpet, swinging the door open.

It's not like... He's seen Dean plenty times recently. On TV, backstage, in hotel lobbies. But it's been a long time since he's had the intensity of Dean's stare raining down on him. The very sight of those vibrant blue eyes makes his heart stumble. He watches as Dean's lips quirk upwards slightly, though the movement passes so quickly he isn't certain it ever happened.

Dean steps inside without a word, suitcase trailing behind- wait, _suitcase_? He stares at the object, and. Yep, that's Dean's suitcase, and Dean's taking it into the bedroom. Seth can only follow, hesitant to question anything, especially after the way Dean snapped at him on the phone. He's stunned when Dean pushes it under the bed next to Seth's. It's as if... as if he's planning on staying. And not just for a couple hours. For the night, for the few days off they have until they have to fly back out on the road.

"I brought beer." Dean says as he stands upright again, hoisting up a bag. Seth looks at the bag blankly, blinking a couple times. Ok. So, apparently, Dean's no longer angry at him. Or whatever he was 20 minutes ago.

"Right. There's, uh. There's room in the mini bar, I think." Dean nods and walks past him, making a loud noise of celebration when he opens the fridge. Before, Seth would have laughed at Dean's excitement over a stocked mini bar. But it's just. It feels too normal, and that unsettles Seth. Perhaps after a few beers he could understand the relaxed attitude, but. But two months ago they were at war, and now, after one phone call that didn't even end on a good note, now they're just… back to normal? No. This isn't Dean. Dean should be a little hesitant _at least_ , and he wouldn't begrudge him any anger, either. But bringing Dean's strange attitude up would only cause an argument, and it's not like Seth _wants_ to argue, so he plays along. It feels great, honestly, to just pretend everything's back to normal.

* * *

They're in bed, currently, sitting against the headboard watching some comedy that Seth doesn't get, but leaves on because he's missed hearing the sound of Dean's laughter. The Vegas skyline is glowing brightly, throwing lights across the walls of their bedroom, but then a spotlight begins to twist in some kind of routine and Dean soon begins to grumble about it blinding him every time it shines into their room. So Seth makes use of the remote controlled curtains and plunges the room into darkness save the television, and they return to the comedy.

With the darkness comes a renewed sense of confidence and Seth edges closer to Dean until their arms are brushing. He waits to see if Dean reacts, but he's too enthralled in the show to notice – or if he does notice, he doesn't care. So Seth grows bolder, and, tentatively, begins to move his head towards Dean's shoulder. The sound he makes as his head settles is embarrassing. It's almost a whimper, and Dean definitely picks up on it this time.

"You alright?"

"Yep."

"You sure?"

"Positive. Just a little tired." And that's all that is said on the matter. Dean hums a slight response, shuffles slightly, then his attention is placed solely back on the screen. Seth's head slips so deep into a state of normality that he almost forgets what day it is, until he asks Dean what time it is. He tries not to look too far into the way Dean's breath hitches as he whispers in his ear. When Dean tells him that it's a few minutes to midnight, Seth grins and turns the TV to the news station, ignoring Dean's protests.

"C'mon, you don't have to drink champagne, you can toast with a can of beer." He tries to encourage as he opens the curtains. When he turns back around, Dean is staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, mouth slightly ajar as if he's about to speak. But Seth doesn't like the look on his face, dreads what Dean could be about to say, so he goes to the mini bar and takes out two bottles of beer, removing the caps.

Walking (well, hobbling) back into the bedroom, he makes sure to keep his eyes low, silently passing a bottle across when he reaches the window Dean now stands at.

"Seth-" Dean begins, but the cries of the countdown cut him off. Seth twists his head to look out of the window, watching as the first firework soars into the sky and bursts into colour, "happy new year." Dean says quietly, but loud enough to draw Seth's attention, which is perhaps what he was hoping to do.

"Yeah. Happy new year." Is all Seth can say in response. He's almost awestruck as Dean smiles at him for the first time in what feels like years, and knocks their bottles together before tipping the bottle back so he can drink. As he does, Dean turns his head to watch the fireworks, leaving Seth to sip on his beer, watching the lights dancing in the reflection of Dean's eyes.

God. He really wants to kiss him right now. But he can't, not yet. It's too soon...

"First time I've ever seen the fireworks on New Years," Dean begins, a soft smile touching his lips, "like, I've seen them on TV, but never in person. Although I did try and make my own display once. Ended up setting someone's shed on fire," Dean laughs at the memory, turning to face Seth again. He's still smiling, and Seth has never felt so breathless in his life, "who'da thought we'd be celebrating New Years together, though, eh?"

"I'd _hoped_ we would." The words fly out without permission – he really needs to take back some control here – but Dean's eyes are soft, and something that feels a lot like hope blooms in his stomach.

"Yeah, me too."

He bites his lip, before breathing out, "can I– can I hug you?"

Dean nods, and that's all the permission Seth needs to throw his arms around his friend, the man he loves more than anything else in the world. Even success. No briefcase or title opportunity could fill him with the same warmth that Dean's arms do as they snake around his waist. A championship couldn't hold him like this, and he couldn't bury his head into its neck, inhaling deeply, filling himself with a smell that just screams _home_. It all seems to pointless now. What's success, and the happiness that comes with it, if you don't have anyone to share it with?

Seth presses a smile into skin, hands coming up to brush through the honey-blond curls at the base of Dean's neck. In that moment, Dean moves to pull away, but Seth can't allow it, _won't_ allow it. He doesn't want to force Dean into anything, but he knows that Dean will be stubborn as hell about this and he'll have to fight to make this right. Dean needs to know that he's serious. So when Dean pulls back, Seth moves with him, a hand moving to the back of his head to keep him there as he presses their foreheads together.

"Seth-"

"Please, don't. Just- just-" He dives forward, pressing his lips against Dean's with a sense of desperation he's never felt before, but the moment barely lasts a second before he's stumbling backwards and falling to the floor. He winces at the pain, both in his lower back and his knee, but it pales in comparison to the pain in his chest. He risks a glance up, to see Dean pacing furiously, shaking his head and muttering to himself, "Dean, I'm-"

"Shut up," Dean barks. His pacing ceases and Seth takes the momentary silence to snatch his crutches and scramble back to his feet, "what was that? Huh? What, you thought I came here to fuck you?"

"No, it was just-"

"It was just cos you think I'm that easy, isn't it? I come over here, and you think 'oh great! He wants to fuck', because there's no way I just wanna hang out. The Authority not putting out anymore?" Seth snaps, letting the crutches fall to the floor and hobbling forward to grab two handfuls of Dean's shirt, before pushing him against the window.

"You know what I hate most about you? The way you never stop talking, never stop _accusing_. Someone's always in the wrong and you always jump to the worst damn conclusion," Seth's surprised when Dean stays silent, watching him carefully with stormy eyes, "alright, so I shouldn't have kissed you. But _Christ_ Dean, you invited yourself over and it just felt so much like _before_ , and I don't expect you to just forgive me like that, I know it'll take time, but God I couldn't help it you're just so-"

"Irresistible?"

Seth laughs quietly, uncurling his fists and sliding his hands up until they're resting on Dean's shoulders, "yeah. Something like that," he lifts his head. Dean is staring at him, and the storm in his eyes is lifting. He takes a deep breath, "have I ruined everything?"

Dean already knows the answer; Seth can just tell. But Seth knows Dean well, too well sometimes, and he knows Dean is going to make him wait. Because it's Dean, and Dean loves to play with Seth whether they're friend, enemies or lovers – mind games are a true passion.

A heartbeat passes. Two. Three. Four. The thought of begging for an answer crosses his mind briefly, but slips away when Dean takes a breath, "no. You haven't ruined anything."

"Really?"

"Really. And I'm- I'm sorry about pushing you… forgot about your knee…"

"Wanna kiss me better?" Dean laughs this time and shakes his head, "what? A guy can try."

"That's the thing, Seth. You don't have to try at all."

It's like breathing again for the first time in months. Dean's hands find their way to Seth's hips and he's pressed up against the older man before his brain is able to catch up. The throbbing in his knee becomes a distant memory too. Whoever made the first move is irrelevant, all that matters is the feeling of warm fingertips feathering up the skin of his back as the meeting of lips sparks a fireworks display of their own.


End file.
